


An Unsteady Tide

by EighthOfHisName



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EighthOfHisName/pseuds/EighthOfHisName
Summary: Doctors make for the worst patients.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	An Unsteady Tide

”Stop fucking with your stitches, I don't want to have to keep fixing them. You’re being too rough with them.”

Will was practically snarling from over the first aid kit he was blearily searching through. He felt like he was sagging, body and mind; his exhaustion bit at him relentlessly and this shitty fucking coffee wasn’t doing anything but making him jittery. Everything ached, everything was too bright. Too loud.

“I’m sorry, I must have missed when you slipped out and gained your medical doctorate.”

Loud was the word.

“You fix them, then.” Will snapped, glaring at the other man over the rim of his styrofoam cup. Dr. Hannibal Lecter just smiled at him from his spot on their shitty motel queen-sized. How did he have the energy to be so irritating now? After the fall from the bluff, after their multiple injuries, their blind stagger through the muck and God-knows-what-else? He was in no state to be so goddamn annoying, all sprawled out on the comforter, defenseless, half stripped and still damp in the creases with saltwater and blood.

But Hannibal found a way, just as he always had.

“Perhaps they wouldn’t keep coming apart if I did.”

The first aid kid was slammed closed. Graham clenched his jaw until it hurt. He tried to make himself look furious; he knew he likely only came across as weary.

“Fuck you.”

“Well you know what they say: doctors make for the worst patients.”

Hannibal was smiling at him - that smile that he had smiled before everything. Before Will had known what he really was. It was the smile that Will used to smile right back at him.

He was making a joke. Will didn’t smile back this time. Not yet.

There was a long silence between them. Will knew that they were thinking the same thing -- Reminiscing about the past, wishing that they could go back to the easy friendship they had had before. It had been simpler; pleasant. Comforting. A far cry from where they were now.

Will had chosen this regardless.

“.... Lean back. I’ll.. Fix them.”

It took Hannibal a moment to comply; trust was still developing between them. It had never been there. Not really. The older man had never truly let his guard down since they had met - the trust they were sharing now was out of necessity. Will understood; he would have kept his walls up too if he had known what he was facing.

There was no going back now.

Despite the clear irritation and exhaustion on Will’s face, the hands he laid upon the other were gentle. Tender. The hole in his side was gingerly tended to once again, torn thread being tugged away from jagged flesh by bone-tired fingers. Lecter held his shirt up and out of the way and stayed silent through it all, which was quietly appreciated by Will. No smart remarks, or quotes from the Inferno, just… Two guys, holed up in a motel. That’s all they were for a moment.

Will’s hand slipped, slick with red. He could tell that the man beneath his touch was holding back a wince. Guilt tied a knot in his throat.

“.... Would you like to give me direction?”

The smile Will received in turn was so genuine and endeared that Will felt red rise to his cheeks. Blue eyes flickered away to lock onto the door instead. Fuck him. Fuck him for being able to do that to him. He was probably just doing it to piss him off.

“You will need to clean it again, or else we might infect it with the needle.”

We.

Will nodded, taking the advice in stride. The flesh was wiped clean again, twice to be sure. He made quick work of the stitching from there. The bandage followed. Will felt a pang of something. It was nearly protective, parental, but not nearly as warm. His voice, however, sounded like it had defrosted a touch since the last time he'd used it.

“Please be more careful.”

Hannibal smiled a bittersweet smile. “When am I not?”

They both knew the answer to that.

_Around me._

The silence between them in that moment was thick and sat uncomfortably in the room. Things weren’t nearly as easy here as they had been the day of their fall. Part of Will hoped it would be, eventually. The other part, the part that Will figured was most rational, hoped that he would never again be comfortable in the company of a serial killer.

Fuck.

“I need a drink. Do you want a drink?”

He could feel himself shutting down from the inside out. The concern that the other man felt was painfully clear. Maroon eyes turned away from him. Will knew that Hannibal was trying to hold back.

“If it’s that garbage that you call whiskey, no thank you.”

Before he could let the guilt get to him Will was crossing the room and collecting his bottle of Old Crow, which he’d snatched from the bed of the truck that they had “borrowed” on their way over. Unopened, which was a fucking miracle. He took a swig straight from the bottle and already felt so much lighter. Whiskey had been a distant friend since he had married Molly; he had wanted to cut down, for Walter’s sake.

They weren’t here anymore. Never again. It wasn’t them he missed.

“I miss my dogs.” Graham stated wistfully, letting his tired frame crumble onto the bed. Hannibal was beside him now, securing an unsure space between them. Another drink, longer this time.

“I’m sure they miss you too, Will.” His voice was quiet. It rumbled through the bed beside him and Will fought off the urge to gravitate closer to the soothing vibration of it.

“What will you miss?”

“I don’t know.”

Will huffed a laugh. Of course he knew. He was probably just not saying it because he didn’t want Will to scream at him. He wouldn’t have; He was so tired of screaming. His laugh turned genuine, if a bit quiet, after a moment. His third drink forced his adam’s apple up and down a handful of times; he wasn’t drinking this shitty whiskey for the taste, afterall. His laughed died. His smile stubbornly lingered.

“I’ve missed your ridiculous suits.”

A chuckle rumbled out warmly beside him. Graham tilted his head towards his own shoulder, bringing them a tad closer, bit by bit. “I don’t miss your wardrobe. It left something to be desired.”

“Yours made up for what mine lacked.”

They were quiet for a long few moments of comfortable silence. Will let his eyes slide shut and, with inhibitions dampened, he leaned his cheek against the sleeve of Hannibal’s salt-stiffened shirt. He relaxed there instantly, nuzzling slightly into the contact. It made him feel... Less alone. Safe. Hannibal made no remark. He didn’t move an inch. The only movement he allowed was the intake and exhalation of breath. It was a fragile moment, and it seemed like both of them wished to cherish it for what it was.

“.... I can always get new suits.”

The younger man smiled at that. It was a sweet sentiment, only made sweeter by his growing inebriation. “Maybe you can help me find some things to wear that you don’t detest.”

Hannibal laughed and Will felt the warm echoes of it against his ear. He couldn’t help but laugh too. Another drink. It was getting easier and easier.

“You would abhor them, Will.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Graham cracked open an eye, looking over the shape of the man beside him. His posture was relaxed, but a bit more still than usual. He wasn’t nervous, not quite, but he was out of his element, it seemed. His hands were held in his lap. He was gently wringing them out there.

Will collected one of them into both of his own, turning it this way and that. Hannibal made no attempt to reciprocate the touch, he simply… Let Will look, hand limp as a dead fish.

“... Wish you ‘ad killed me in Florence, sometimes. Eaten my brain.”

“I had always admired it.”

Will chewed at his lower lip and his eyelashes pressed to reddened cheeks. His bottle was set on the bedside table. He brought his legs up to his chest, and turned the entirety of his form towards his "roommate". He was starting to drift, now. He was brought back to the surface by Hannibal’s voice.

“I would have regretted it. It was bad timing.”

“Saving me for later?”

Will could feel Hannibal’s body shift against his own, letting their frames slot together more comfortably. An easy sigh escaped the other man and, for a moment, things felt like they were the way that they were supposed to be. He could hear the smile in Hannibal’s voice.

“.... Something like that.”


End file.
